Never Alone
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: Isobel finds comfort in Mary after refusing Lord Merton's hand in marriage. As they spend time together, both women realise the depths of grief they share, but also rejoice in the concern for and support of one another.


Her front door was never ajar as it was today.

The exterior of Crawley House was all the same: the vibrantly coloured flowers planted along the front of the building, the neatly trimmed grass basking in the midsummer sunlight. But something, Mary knew, had distracted the woman from closing the door to the unchanged little house. And that puzzled her.

As there was no butler to welcome the young woman, Mary stepped inside and called out, "Hello? Isobel?"

Her unanswered questions continued to ring in her ears; the ghastly nature of the silent house brought nothing but reminders that the woman who resided here was widowed and without her only son. This recollection sent a chill down Mary's back, whereupon she glanced round the entryway for a mirror.

She prayed that she looked presentable. "Ah," she whispered in relief as soon as she had located the unscathed glass; sitting atop a chest of drawers in the entryway, it was framed so that Mary could pick the mirror up to examine her features.

_I look well enough, thank goodness,_ she thought. Little George had been taken ill, and as a result of his nanny catching on to the trend of sickness, Mary had become the perfect candidate for nursing the child back to health. Innumerable hours in the nursery - as well as unending travel through the hallways to fetch child paraphernalia - had tired the woman out; and so it was a comfort to her now, as she gazed upon her presentable figure.

Suddenly, a response from upstairs: "Mary? Is that you, my dear?"

"Hello, Isobel," Mary quickly assured her mother-in-law. "I thought I'd drop by, since I've just finished my errands in the village." She put the mirror back down, her mind now concerned with the reason behind the open-door. "May I come upstairs?"

"No, I'll come down," Isobel offered. Mary's cheery countenance fell once Isobel descended the stairs in a rather distressed manner. Before the younger could utter the shortest form of "What's the matter?", Isobel forced a wan smile and confessed, "I've had a rough afternoon."

"Would it be all right to discuss it in the living-room?" asked Mary softly. She could sense the delicate nature of her mother-in-law's emotions.

"Actually," Isobel began, her lips curling into a smile, "that's a fine idea. Thank you, my dear."

It warmed Mary's heart that her suggestion had revived Isobel's positive morale a bit, but she only nodded and gestured for them to proceed into the living-room. _Better to allow Isobel the liberty of talking, and with no distraction from me_, she mused.

They both settled onto the sofa that faced the window, which always - to Isobel's constant delight - allowed the radiant sunlight to shine through it. Mary had always enjoyed the living-room in Crawley House; but suddenly Isobel stifled her tears, and the younger woman was snatched from her trance.

Being fully aware of her state of mind, Isobel found it appropriate now to provide the explanation to Mary: "Lord Merton met me this afternoon. He was hoping that I would entirely accept his proposal, but I couldn't let his sons detest their father for it." She wiped her eyes, quickly, as if eager to continue.

Mary reached for a handkerchief on the side-table to her left. "Here," she offered to Isobel.

"Thank you," the other acknowledged. There was a pause, during which both women could only ponder the past few years and all they had endured. Then Isobel turned her head to face Mary, and questioned, "What do you think Matthew would have felt about this?"

It was a bittersweet mention of Mary's late husband, but she calmly replied, "He would have supported your decision to call off the proposal. Only because he was thoughtful like you...and he would have loved to see you married once more, I'm sure," Mary added, "but never would he have wanted any marriage to damage remaining family-ties."

"I believe you are right," commented Isobel, looking first at the carpet on the floor and then back at her daughter-in-law. "It pains me that I couldn't marry Dickey, but I fear that it would have been a disaster for him. For both of us."

Mary put a comforting hand on Isobel's arm; she completely understood her mother-in-law at this time, perhaps more than she'd ever done before._ Any man would be pained by a marriage-refusal from someone as bright and as caring as Isobel._ "You would never have been happy, were you to live among his disappointed sons," she reasoned aloud. "I do think you've made the right decision."

Isobel closed her eyes to cherish everything at that moment: Mary's honesty and support, the closeness that they both now experienced in spite of the wretched times that had challenged them. She opened them and extended her hand to touch Mary's cheek. "The union you shared with my son was one I will never regret. It has truly helped me, Mary, to have you still after Matthew's death."

Almost choking on her words, Mary answered gently, "I feel as if you've been much more helpful to me than I've done to you. And I wish I would have visited and talked more often -"

"But, my dear," Isobel cut in, her countenance now serious, "you cannot see for yourself how beautifully you express your love toward me. George is one example. I know you're not fond of having a nanny to watch him throughout the day, but everything you do to ensure that you're still a mother to him...it speaks wonders."

Mary covered her mouth as a result of the grief that had reinstated to the time of Matthew's death. She had - for so long - ached to weep in her mother-in-law's presence; not to inspire a similar reaction in the other woman, but to show how affected she was by the loss they shared.

Of course Isobel already understood such things. "You loved my son more than I can ever know, and yet it comes through in a beautifully agonising way." She intertwined their hands and applied a loving squeeze, which was her form of assuring that she felt Mary's pain. "You have been...so very brave, but one cannot constrain their burdens internally forever. So, my dear, you have my full attention and permission to let it all out."

It was a powerful last-assertion, for which Mary was thankful and relieved. They talked for a half-hour, sharing thoughts and emotions of every form. Isobel was enlightened by their exchange, as she had never seen so much of Mary's ambitions and concerns unveiled. When at last Mary left the house, the older woman no longer had the weight of worry on her shoulders. _I've had the best means of healing,_ she recognised with a grin as Mary's figure proceeded down the pathway.

_Our lives are full of heartache, indeed, but one must never forget that one is never alone._


End file.
